


Ranger Things Have Happened

by Jadetarem



Series: Valkyria Debacles [1]
Category: Senjou no Valkyria | Valkyria Chronicles
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadetarem/pseuds/Jadetarem
Summary: The true story of Squad E's participation in the Second Europan War went untold... until now. The journal of Claude Wallace has been found, and it has never been clearer that the details of their operations were sealed not for public safety, but to preserve the dignity of both the Federation and the Empire. A parody romp through Valkyria Chronicles 4.





	1. Sign of the Northern Cross

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! It's been quite a while since I posted anything on this site. I don't have too much to say beforehand, beyond a couple of remarks.  
> 1\. I loved Valkyria Chronicles 4. I played it through to the true ending and everything. That's why I'm going to mercilessly mock it now.  
> 2\. While they might visit all the same places, that doesn't mean the story is going to do all the same things. I'm not interested in just re-posting the dialogue from the game, even the funny parts. Creative sterility is the last thing I want. To that end, I might not have every single detail play out exactly like it does in the game. It's all in good fun!  
> 3\. I'm just assuming that if you're reading Valkyria Chronicles 4 fan fiction, it is either impossible to spoil anything for you, or else you just don't care about that. Either way, while I said I wasn't just rehashing the game's dialogue, it cleaves closely enough that some major plot twists in the game might be given away, if for no other reason than certain characters showing up. This is the only spoiler warning!
> 
> That's about it. I hope you enjoy the tour!

**_March 5th, 1935  
Ranger Recruitment, _ **~~**_Squad_ **~~ **_Platoon E_ **  
  
First Lieutenant Claude Wallace sat at his temporary desk at the Ranger Recruitment center. His squad - or possibly a platoon, no one could really seem to make up their minds - had already been confirmed as Rangers, having completed Ranger training as a unit not too long ago. However, command had seen fit to pass some final recruits on to him for confirmation.  
  
“So, Emmy Mistral, your profile states that you used to be a bounty hunter and a mercenary. What convinced you to join the Ranger Corps?”  
  
“Pays well.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. He’d really been hoping for a bit more dedication to the cause. “So does bank robbery.”  
  
“Probably. It’s a backup plan.”  
  
Claude took a deep, steadying breath. “Jeebus. Okay, we’ll run the basic evaluation later. Do you have any hobbies?”  
  
She stared at him blankly. “...does getting paid count?”  
  
"Alright, I think we’re done here. Next!”  
  
As Emmy shuffled out, he glanced over at Kai, who was leaning against the wall off to the side of the room, arms folded. Claude had her and Raz helping him judge the new hopefuls in two hour shifts, since he couldn’t bring himself to subject his friends to a full eight hours of this headache.  
  
For her part, Kai shrugged, apparently in a taciturn mood today. Then again, there wasn’t much to say. Private Mistral seemed pretty one-note.  
  
The next person to walk in was a beautiful Darcsen woman. After an exchange of salutes and introductions, she sat down with an easy grace and leaned forward, inhaling. “A pleasure to meet you, commander.”  
  
“Aoife, if I’m pronouncing that right… your application says you joined to gain combat experience. You started as a bodyguard?”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
“You’ve had a chance to look around our facilities. What did you think?”  
  
“I was very impressed with the equipment, and I love a man in uniform.” She winked at him. “I hope we can see each other again soon.”  
  
“Uh…”  
  
Kai snickered at Claude’s obvious discomfort, but was caught short when Aoife turned a casual eye to her. “I love your look too, of course. Could we get to know each other better?”  
  
The sniper _almost_ stammered. “...this conversation has taken a surprising turn for 1935.”  
  
“I’m not sure I get your meaning,” Aoife blinked innocently, “it’s just a bit of interc-”  
  
“Okaythankyouwe’llputyouthrougheval please send in the next person.” Claude got out. She left, making a ‘call me’ sign with her hand on the way out, and he and Kai exchanged a look. “What just happened?”  
  
“Claude, I’m a woman disguised as a man disguised as a responsible adult. You’re asking the wrong person.”  
  
The next candidate walked in, a blonde man with one hell of a cowlick. “Stanley Barclay, at yer service, sir! I’d like to thank your APC.”  
  
The lieutenant blinked. “Our A-”  
  
“For keepin’ me off the streets!” Stanley paused, waiting for laughter that most certainly would never come. “Wow, tough crowd.”  
  
For his part, Claude hoped this was just an attack of job-interview nerves. “So… Mr. Barclay, you decided to join the Ranger Corps because…”  
  
“Thought it’d be funny.”  
  
“In the sense that tragedy plus time equals comedy, no doubt,” Kai deadpanned, nodding sagely.  
  
Stanely blinked. “‘Fraid I don’t get it, miss.”  
  
Claude sighed and rubbed at his temples. The wall clock clearly showed that it was barely 8:20 a.m. This was going to be a long, long day.

* * *

**_  
Forty-eight hours earlier…_ **  
_**March 3rd, 1935**  
**Outskirts of Milt** _  
  
~~_Platoon_ ~~ _Squad E is hidden among the tall grasses and flower fields outside of Milt, preparing to begin Operation: Tiptoe Through the Tulips.  
  
Well, most of them are hidden. Raz, Miles, and I are sitting out in our tank in a flower field like the world’s biggest dumbasses, not only giving away our position but making ourselves an inviting target, too. High Command has yet to put together a battle plan, and having us act as bait was preferable to the other plan our Field Marshall came up with, as “Operation: Livin’ On a Prayer” involved us trying to slow the enemy tanks by gumming up their treads with our fleshy bodies.  
  
It’s fine, though. Imperial Artillery can’t hit the broad side of a battleship, and on top of th _  
  
  
The next explosion jostled the pen out of Claude’s hand, where it went bouncing off of several armored plates and ultimately, Raz’s face. “Yo, Claude. What do you think they’re shooting at?”  
  
“Well, if the first game was any indication, they’re using up a lot of ammunition on gunning down civilians. That said, the wind just told me that the Imperials are thataway, so…”  
  
“Got it. Alright, boys and girls, up and at ‘em!”  Raz leaped down from the Hafen, and the assembled members of Squad E jumped up from cover and broke apart for their assignments. “Stay sharp, everyone! This is the vanguard of the Imperial army, pushing deep into Federation territory, so it’s gonna be their best guys. Don't let your guard down for a second!”

* * *

**_Five minutes later…_ **

“Those were not their best guys.” Raz slumped, disappointed. “I mean, that one dude was just standing out in the open in a flower field.”  
  
“Yeah, who does that?” Claude chuckled nervously, gaze shifting left and right. Something below him caught his eye.  
  
Raz followed his gaze. “What’s the matter, Claude?”  
  
“The flowers…”  
  
“Huh?” The Darcsen scratched his head.  
  
“They look exactly the same as in Gallia.”  
  
“Weirdly watercolor?”  
  
Claude nodded. “Yeah.” The lieutenant took a deep breath. “Well, I’d better get this report in. No drinking until we’re off duty.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. Regulations and shit.”  
  
“No, I’m just gonna need a drink after dealing with Minerva, and I don’t want the whole stash depleted before I get back.”

* * *

**_Present_ **

The interviews were… not going great. That the social darwinist woman with clear authority issues and the guy who loved tanks a _little_ too much were the most promising candidates of the bunch was not a good sign.  
  
“So, Rita Raywater, I see here that you’re an accomplished tank mechanic and medic, and you can disarm landmines. Why did you want to join the Ranger Corps?”  
  
“I heard there were a bunch of cute, single guys!” Rita nodded decisively. “I wasn’t having any luck back home, so I decided to try here.”  
  
“...” Claude looked over at Raz, then back at Rita. “You… you are aware that this is a unit of elite soldiers, right? It’s not a dating service. You’re going to operate heavy equipment while people shoot at you.”  
  
“I’m counting on it! They say you can find true love on the battlefield.”  
  
The lieutenant briefly consulted the sky through the window, hoping a sudden tornado would interrupt this conversation. Unfortunately, the weather was peaceful and perfect, at least for early March. “Alright, we’ll do the evaluation in a bit. Assuming you succeed, just… don’t let the dating thing interfere with your duties.”  
  
“Yes sir!”  
  
As the door shut behind her, Raz, who had taken Kai’s place against the wall, flashed Claude his usual rakehell grin. “You know, I could solve the problem by letting her operate _my_ heavy equipment.”  
  
“She’s looking for romance, Raz, not a one night stand.”  
  
The Darcsen jerked a thumb at himself. “Hey, I could be good boyfriend material.”  
  
“Really.” Claude raised an eyebrow. “Let’s say the next woman who comes through that door proclaims her interest in you. What do you do for a first date?”  
  
“...does she like bourbon?”  
  
“Thanks for proving my point.” They shared a laugh. “Really, the odds of any of us meeting our true love in combat...”  
  
“More likely to find a bullet, that’s for sure.” Raz checked the list on Claude’s desk. “Ugh, a noblewoman? What’s she doing on the list?”  
  
“Come on, Raz, I know you’ve got reasons to dislike the upper class, but I’m sure this ‘Gertrude Albright’ isn’t that bad. Just give her a-”  
  
The door slammed open. In the frame, standing with excellent posture and an honest-to-goodness tiara in her hair, was the lancer in question. Her eyes flashed as her command rang through the room. “Kneel, peasants!”

* * *

**_Ten Exhausting Minutes Later…_ **  
  
“You know,” Claude started, trying to lighten the mood, “the irony here is that the lancer, traditionally, was a rank and file cavalryman. A noble who blows up tanks is like the opposite of that.”  
  
“She’s efficient, man, I’ll give her that.” Raz cracked his knuckles. “I think she managed to insult my mother, race, name, culture, and face all in the same sentence.”  
  
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, she’ll still have to pass the course evaluation, which means doing the run while carrying the big honking lance. We’ll see how long she lasts.”  
  
“Ugh. Why are we even recruiting now, anyway? We already have a squad.”  
  
“Well… about that.” Claude sighed, “High command put together a plan. It’s a bad plan. We’re going to want the reinforcements.”  
  
The Darcsen blinked and turned to his CO. “Wait, did something important happen at that staff meeting yesterday?”  
  
The commander gave him a glum look. “Yeah. We have new marching orders, brace yourself…”

* * *

_**Command Center  
March 4th, 1935** _  
  
“You’re late, Claude.” Lieutenant Minerva Victor gave him her best disapproving look. She’d put a lot of work into getting the tone and expression just right, and it would be a shame to waste it. She frequently informed him that he was late even if he wasn’t, such was her dedication.  
  
For his part, Claude was more interested in the stack of orders on the table before them. That, plus the fact that all of the squads had been assembled, meant that something big had finally come through.  
  
Their CO, whom neither of them could remember the name of, began with a status update. “Alright, since only one of us can be bothered to keep track of the overall progress of the war, we’re going to ask Lieutenant Victor to give us the briefing.”  
  
“Yes sir!” Minerva snapped to attention. “We’re losing, on account of the Empire having nearly limitless supplies, millions of troops, tens of thousands of armored units, a powerful industrial base, a centralized command structure, and the initiative... whereas we mostly have a sense of self-righteousness, helmets that don’t look like we’re about to enter a jousting tournament, and a slightly more egalitarian recruitment process.”  
  
“Your miniskirt _has_ been a morale booster, ma’am!” Christel spoke up from behind her.  
  
“In response to this, and owing to the failure of ‘Operation: Beat It, We’re On Holiday,’ the top brass have come up with what is - relatively speaking - their most brilliant plan yet.”  
  
Minerva dramatically slapped down a map of the Easter Theater, rolling it out to reveal lines of attack and logistics. Rather long lines, actually. “This is ‘Operation: Sign of the Northern Cross.’ We’re gathering all of our forces and charging thousands of kilometers overland at the enemy capitol.”  
  
Dead silence greeted her announcement.  
  
The other squad leaders eventually began to speak up. “So, uh… isn’t this what Napoleon tried right before the Russian winter killed his whole army?”  
  
“Correct.”  
  
“And I mean, it’s still a logistical nightmare in terms of getting supplies, winter clothes, food, fuel, ammo…”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
“So basically we’re going to charge dicks-first into Imperial territory and then watch said dicks fall off from frostbite.”  
  
“Seems likely.”  
  
Claude finally added his concern. “Even if we did take the capitol, wouldn’t they just move their seat of command to another city and keep fighting from there? I mean they’ve got like eleven time zones to fall back on…”  
  
“Yes!” Minerva threw her hands into the air in exasperation. “Christ, I said this was High Command’s _best_ plan, not that it was an objectively _good_ plan.”  
  
“This is dumb. This is beyond dumb.” Squad E’s leader grunted, feeling the chill already. “Much like the giant windmill that got blown up in the first game, I am not a fan. Could we try something else?”  
  
“Okay, hold on now. I think you’re being a bit unfair,” the nameless CO finally spoke up again. “Yes, historically, this ended poorly for the Nazis-”  
  
“I really think the fact that we’re playing the role of the Nazis speaks volumes about the quality of this idea.”  
  
The CO ignored that and pressed on, “-but this is an alternate history in which the entirety of Western Europe was unified. There’s no Western Front to split our forces and we’re not at war with the Americans, Canadians, Australians, French, and British.”  
  
“We _are_ the British.” Minerva pointed out.  
  
“ _You’re_ British. I think I’m Belgian or something.” Claude coughed. “Back on topic, in real history, the Soviet military was untested and disrespected prior to WW2. In fact, Russia’s government had collapsed in the previous war, then they had a civil war which killed a bunch of their industry and intellectuals. No one was sure they’d even put up a fight. _Our_ version of the Soviets is a technical and industrial juggernaut with tanks the size of battleships and an actual R &D budget, plus all the veterans from the first Europan War, plus the manpower the actual Soviets had, _and they are already winning the current war_ despite our best efforts. Plus I think they might be allies with China in this reality; our maps don’t seem to go that far east. We don’t have an excuse for underestimating them.”  
  
The CO nodded, creepily serene. “All of these concerns were noted during planning, Mr. Wallace, but the brass is committed to it. Well, not _personally._ Come November, they’re going to be in a climate-controlled headquarters building with hot cocoa and crumpets, but they’re committed to _us_ doing it.”  
  
Silence reigned again. Finally, Claude sighed. “Alright then… everyone pack warm underwear, I guess.”

* * *

**_Present_ **  
  
“Holy. Shit.” Kai stared at her CO at the Ranger recruitment center. That had more or less been Raz’s reaction, too, when Claude had explained the meeting’s outcome to him an hour ago. “Yeah, okay, consider me motivated. Let’s get recruiting.”  
  
“Alright, the next contender is Nico Emery. Let’s send her in.”  
  
A girl who could not _possibly_ have been older than 16 burst into the room like a ray of sunshine personified. “~Gooooooood Morning!~”  
  
“I hate her already.”  
  
“We can’t all be grumpy, Kai.” Claude gestured for Nico to have a seat. “Miss Emery… your file states that you came here from a convent?”  
  
T he prospective ranger nodded, smiling brightly. “That’s right! I was in training to be a nun. Then the Lord told me that I needed to join the army and help people.”  
  
“You’re here to help people.” Claude echoed, taking notes.  
  
“Yes! There’s nothing I love more.”  
  
He gave her an arch look. “Including the people you’ll be shooting at?”  
  
Nico’s beaming expression went from a ten to about a seven as her smile faltered ever so slightly. “Well, no, not _those_ people specifically, but I’ll be helping people in general! Sometimes. If they’re on my side.”  
  
Kai blinked, awestruck. “Wow, that sentence might be the most concise and perfect description of organized religion I’ve ever heard.”  
  
The shine returned. “Aww, thanks!”  
  
“It wasn’t really a compli-”  
  
“Moving on!” Claude cut in. “We’ll put you through the eval with the rest. Normally we wouldn’t take a sixteen year old, but… standards get relaxed when your side is losing this badly.”  
  
“Yes, sir!” The prospective ranger stood up, preparing to be dismissed.  
  
“One final concern I have… you’re signed up to be one of our scouts, but it says here that you rarely take cover or make efforts to evade enemy gunfire. Why is that?”  
  
“Well, I have faith that God will protect me.”  
  
“...” awkward silence once again reigned. “Ohhhhh my God.”  
  
“Language, mister!” Nico scolded, cutely.  
  
“Just… you’re dismissed. Please send in the next applicant.”  
  
She did, and a moment later the smell of whiskey filled the room. A woman with ruddy cheeks and red eyes staggered in. “Vancey Fiore, reportin’ for duty, ssssssshir!”  
  
“Private, are you… did you really show up to this intoxicated?”  
  
Vancey took a seat without being asked. “Nooooooooo, nah, ya got me all wrong, occifer. I schwear to drunk I’m not God.”  
  
Claude shook his head. He already had to deal with Raz thinking he was bulletproof, now he had another shock trooper that was just forty proof.  
  
The shock trooper giggled and hiccuped. “Sho! What can ol’ Vancey do for ya?”

* * *

_**Hours Later** _  
  
It had indeed been a long day, but now they were down to the last two. The recruits hadn’t really improved in overall quality. After the alcoholic had been the gambling addict, then the shady woman from the Far East, the guy who was looking for a book deal, the creepy lady with the bad vibe to her, the scout who’d seemed normal until she started talking about viscera, then one clown who took everything _literally_ … the list went on and on. Still, he knew they’d have a hard time topping what he’d seen so far. Whatever came after all that would have to be an improvement.  
  
Raz opened the door and showed out the master swordswoman who would not, in fact, be permitted to use a sword in combat. “Our next candidate is Simon Bale, and he’s-”  
  
“Yaa-haa!” A man with a hairstyle that wouldn’t be well known in Europe until fifty years later burst into the room. “When do I get to go kill some guys?”  
  
“-an axe murderer.” The sergeant finished.  
  
“Very funny, Raz.” Claude had seen false bloodlust in more than one recruit, but this was just ridiculous. It had to be a prank. If he was being honest, it was kind of clever. “What’s his real story.”  
  
“I just gave it to you, man. He’s an axe murderer.” Raz shrugged, apologetic. “They found him on the side of the road.”  
  
“Yaa-haa! They got me and now I’m here to kill people in a socially acceptable way! God, I love the legal system!”  
  
“Okay, joke over. What’s your actual-”  
  
“Yaa-haa! No joke, my man! I’m here to kill for thrills, make corpses for the corps, and all that. I’m the best at what I do, and what I do ain’t pretty!”  
  
Claude began to realize, with a growing sense of horror, that they were serious. “Oh my God. Are you… this is _insane._ How? How did an axe murderer make it through screening? Or basic? How did you get far enough to be considered for the Ranger Corps?!”  
  
“Yaa-haa!” The man’s verbal tic went off again. “I killed everyone who said I couldn’t!”  
  
The lieutenant planted his face in his hand, “Of course you d-”  
  
“With an axe!”  
  
“Yes, thank you, I got that part.” He looked up and sighed. In the most unenthused tone he could muster, he ground out. “What skills do you bring to the u-”  
  
“Yaa-haa! I’m really good at killin’ dipshits!”  
  
Claude held up a hand to stop him from elaborating. “Okay, before we go any further, are you gonna do that every time you say anything?”  
  
“Yaa-haa! Do what?”

* * *

  
“I’m not _saying_ that, should this man end up in my squad, I’ll do my damnedest to get him killed,” Claude said, after they finally managed to get Simon out of the room, “but I _am_ heavily implying it.”  
  
“How professional of you,” Kai quipped, her face a stoic mask. She’d returned early, and had joined Raz for the processing of the final candidate. “Alright, final contender is Mabel Drake, a sniper.”  
  
“Wait, of the Drake family? They were pretty well known in the academy…”  
  
Raz huffed, but Kai nodded, “Pretty sure that’s right. I’ll go get her.”  
  
Private Drake marched in and saluted with precision. Astonishingly, the evaluation went perfectly from there. Mabel was polite, professional, and had a plan to kill everyone she met. Her posture was excellent, her speech composed, and her manner poised. She was already quite familiar with the Edinburgh military and all of its ranks and regulations. When all was said and done, she marched out and shut the door quickly, but not hard enough to slam it.  
  
“That interview went great. I don’t trust it.” Claude finally remarked. “What’s the catch?”  
  
Kai looked at him uneasily. “Her record is spotless…”  
  
“I know. I saw it. What’s the catch?”  
  
“There doesn’t have to be a catch, Claude, it’s okay to just appreciate it when life throws you a bone,” Raz gave him a thumbs up.  
  
“That’s great. What’s the catch?”  
  
The two sergeants looked at each other, then deflated. Raz broke the silence. “All the other recruits hate her. And I do mean _all_ of them.”  
  
Claude clapped his hands together once. “And _there_ it is! Why do they all hate her?”  
  
“She’s… difficult.” Kai started, alternating with Raz.  
  
“She’s got a huge stick up her-”  
  
“She’s got some pretty high standards, even for the Ranger corps, and gets testy when someone doesn’t live up to them. Given that the other candidates are...”  
  
“...a pack of weirdos?”  
  
“They don’t really get along.” She finished.  
  
“Wonderful.” Claude rose, albeit stiffly. “Alright, I’ll draw up who I’m going to put up with in a bit. You two are dismissed until twenty-one hundred hours. I’m going to stretch my legs and go talk to Minerva. Maybe she had better luck.”

* * *

  
“I have had the _best_ luck!” Minerva crowed. “Suck it, Claude. Also, you’re late.”  
  
"This isn't a scheduled meeting."  
  
"I'm too happy to care. I have the true elite of the Federation here, the cream of the crop." The more senior lieutenant planted her hands on her hips. "We're going to be the highest performing platoon in the Ranger Corps."  
  
She may have had a point. Arrayed before them were the proud and perfectly groomed members of Platoon F, in perfect formation. “Squad F, attention!”  
  
“Sir, yes sir!” They said in unison, and snapped to attention. Even their motion was perfectly precise.  
  
“As usual, Lieutenant Victor has done an incredible job.” Christel spoke up. “The Minerva Victor fanclub - excuse me, Platoon F - will be ready to deploy within the week.”  
  
Claude started to feel the stirrings of jealousy, but then something caught his eye. “Uh, Minerva… are these guys all brothers or something?”  
  
“No, why?”  
  
“Well… I mean, don’t they all… kinda look alike to you?”  
  
She scowled. “Now, see, that’s just you being racist.”  
  
“No, Minera, _look_ at them. They don’t have names. They don’t even really have faces.” Claude’s unease grew, but he was right - these guys were, not counting the variations in gear between classes, perfectly identical.  
  
Minerva planted her hands on her hips. “That’s ridiculous, Lieutenant Wallace. Squad F! Impress this man with your individuality!”  
  
“I AM A UNIQUE SNOWFLAKE, SIR!” They all answered in unison.  
  
With one exception. “I’m not. I just drive the tank.” Claude turned around and saw a blonde man with a hell of a chin and a name tag that said ‘Ronald Albee’ giving him an evaluative look. Claude’s assessment of that guy’s odds of survival ratcheted up significantly.  
  
Squad E’s leader whirled back around. “You there,” he pointed at a man in the front rank. “What is your hope for the war? Your motivation? Your reason to fight?”  
  
“Sir!” The private answered, “I hope to die off-camera to make future cutscenes more dramatic!”  
  
“That’s just a little in-joke.” Christel waved that off, but Minerva was starting to look uneasy.  
  
Claude gave her a sympathetic look. “I’d… I’d double check if I were you. I need to be going. See you later, Minerva.”  
  
“Wait!” Minerva called out to him, halting his exit. “You must have impressed someone on your last mission. They’re giving you this as a reward.” With that, she handed him a custom rifle. He could tell from the craftsmanship that it was slightly better than what his scouts were using now.  
  
“Oh, wow. Uh… I didn’t think the operation was that impressive, I mean, we killed like four guys. They were just kinda standing out in the open.” He shrugged. “But I’ll take it. Thanks, Minerva.”  
  
“Don’t thank me. I don’t even know why I’m the one giving you these things. You’d think that’d be the job for our CO. Captain… um… oh bollocks, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”  
  
“Yeah, I can never remember his name either. Well, good luck with…”  
  
“WE LOVE YOU, MINERVA!”  
  
“...that.” Claude waved in the direction of the Squad F clones, and started on his way back to his own unit.  
  


* * *

  
“You’re taking _all_ of them?” Raz squawked, surprise crippling his ability to keep his voice down.  
  
Claude took a deep breath and sat down, digging out his journal to record the day’s events. “They’re the best available, so yes.”  
  
Kai goggled at him. “Including the alcoholic.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And the woman who’s obviously hiding something.”  
  
“Mmm-hmm.”  
  
“And the ax-murd-”  
  
“Yes!” Claude threw his hands into the air. “I said they were the best available, not that I love the idea. Trust me, we want these guys.”  
  
And with that, Squad E was formed in earnest. They were a ragtag group of immature, unprofessional, unstable, irresponsible, and occasionally criminal misfit weirdos… but they had a reason to fight. They had the will to live. They had _names_ . And for now, Claude would take what he could get.  
  
Plus, he could always just stick Simon on the radiator of the Hafen. The man ought to last long enough to block at least one enemy shell. Or maybe they’d luck out and Operation Sign of the Northern Cross wouldn’t be as bad as he feared. Maybe the casualty count wouldn’t be too high. He’d keep a good thought.

 

* * *

  
_Operation: Sign of the Northern Cross went on to claim more lives than any military engagement in western history. The details of Federation operations in the Eastern Theater were classified as Top Secret after the Second Europan War. Not for the sake of the civilian populace, of course… after spending millions of lives fighting a land war in Asia, claiming to have the good of the people in mind with a straight face proved difficult, even for career politicians. No, the Top Secret seal was placed on these records because everyone involved swore, when all was said and done, that they would never speak of this again. It was just that weird.  
  
But the journal of Claude Wallace eventually came to light. What follows is the story of Easy Platoon, and the… bizarre path they took through the war. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, and that's the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, and I love comments - even critical ones, as long as they're constructive (calling me a fart-powered zeppelin doesn't really fall into that category, but telling me that the formatting is wonky or that I've spelled a character's name wrong the last fifteen times I've used it might cause me to change things).
> 
> NaNoWriMo is coming up in a couple of days, which means there will be a delay before the next chapter, but I'll have some time here and there to work on things. I don't usually keep a strict update schedule, but the nature of this work should make it easy to keep track of for me and fun to work on. I hope you'll stick around for the full journey! I'm also planning to tackle the Squad Stories, but that will be contained in a different work in the series. Until next time!


	2. Ain't No Krest for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. They say real life writes the plot, but sometimes real life halts the plot instead. The good news is that I've worked ahead on the story, such as it is, and have taken some time to review. Here we go!

_An excerpt from the Journal of Claude Wallace_

**_March 10, 1935  
Advancing Front, Edge of Federation Territory_ **  
  
_Progress has been remarkably swift, despite the numerous setbacks the squad has faced, many of them self-inflicted. Still, we have settled into something of a routine, only occasionally interrupted by drunken gunfire or Simon’s attempts to axe-murder us. The ever changing scenery, however, means that we have little time to get bored. This isn’t just a good thing, but a lifesaver. If winter gets to us before we get to Schwartzgrad, we are well and truly toast.  
  
I’m not getting too comfortable, though. Despite the potshots the enemy has taken at us, Squad E has barely accounted for a dozen enemy kills between them, and I’m not looking forward to fighting the other ten million guys between us and our objective. Where are they? _

* * *

The peace of the forest was interrupted by the rumbling of the Hafen’s engine long before it actually arrived. Encounters with the enemy had been sparse, and so far they’d miraculously avoided casualties - at least, casualties bad enough that a little ragnaid couldn’t fix them. Still, after the seventh or eighth time that a rustling in the foliage had proved to be an Imperial scout, they were all a little tense. This might explain why, five minutes later, they were bandaging a bleeding Christel while Minerva scowled at them.  
  
Claude waved his arms to deflect her attention from his squad, like a good leader. Then he threw the mission planners under the bus, like a good manager. “Look, I’m just saying, if we wanted to avoid this situation, maybe our secret code shouldn’t be a one-syllable exclamation uttered by someone hiding in the bushes.”  
  
Minerva was having none of it. “Don’t even start with me, Claude. I outrank you. I literally don’t have to take your sass.”  
  
“But I _do_ have to supply it.”  
  
“Oh my God, please just shut up.” She turned to the others. “What _happened,_ here?”  
  
Raz shrugged. “It’s pretty straightforward. We were all making fun of Miles’s photography fetish-”  
  
“What’s wrong with taking a few pictures?” The young man with the bowl cut squawked. “They’ll probably be valuable after the war!”  
  
“The fact that you’re _supposed to be driving the tank!_ We had to get Aulard to drive it instead, and he… it gets weird. He makes it weird, man.” The shock trooper shuddered.  
  
The hatch on the Hafen popped up at that moment, and the engineer in question emerged, mopping at his forehead with his headband in one hand, sweaty but triumphant. “Alright, I did it! I licked all the controls. It’s mine now.”  
  
Miles made a face. “Eeugh, stop licking the Hafen! That’s disgusting!”  
  
“And also _not_ how requisitions work.” Claude added, deadpan.  
  
Seeing the increasingly explosive look in Minerva’s face, Kai finally elected to butt in. “Christel jumped out of the bushes and yelled ‘flash,’ and our sentry shot her because surprising a bunch of tightly-wound and heavily armed soldiers is not a smart thing to do.”  
  
Raz nodded, waving off Lieutenant Victor’s next objection. “Yeah, chill out, lady. She’ll be fine, it’s not like we killed her.”  
  
“Not for lack of trying, mind you.” Claude’s gesture directed them all to Christel’s former hiding place. A cone-shaped path of total destruction spread out from that point and into the woods. The foliage, tree trunks, ground cover, and brush were all riddled with bullet holes. “Seriously, Fleur, _what_ were you aiming at?”  
  
The blonde assault trooper gave a haughty flip of her hair. “Pah! As though you can aim a weapon ‘sis uncivilized! I… ‘ow you say… spray and pray?”  
  
Minerva, clearly counting backward from ten slowly, took a deep breath and addressed Christel. “Miss Ward, are you alright?”  
  
Christel gave her her best worried look. “The injuries are severe, Lieutenant Victor. I may need a full medical examination later. Conducted by a superior officer. In my Unit. With red hair.” She paused, then nodded. “Possibly mouth-to-mouth as well-”  
  
“She was lightly grazed by two shots, upper arm and lower calf.” Rebecca Longhurst, her medic of the hour, cut in. “Rub some dirt on it and she’ll be good as new in fifteen minutes.”  
  
Either ignoring or oblivious to Christel’s glare at the terse engineer, Minerva nodded, finally regaining some composure. “Alright then, did you deliver your message, Christel?”  
  
“I did not. I believe I got as far as ‘Oh God, stop shooting, I’m on your side’ before they shot me.”

“Wonderful!” The senior lieutenant took a deep breath. “Our forces are currently under attack by-”  
  
She was cut off by a series of measured explosions. Some were faint, some were louder, and one landed close enough to shake the ground and rattle teeth. When it passed and everyone checked to make sure that none of them had been turned to salsa, she went on. “-that. The Imperials have set up a massive artillery cannon at Fort Krest. We can’t move forward while it’s active, so we have to kill it.”  
  
Claude gave her a measured look from next to the Hafen. “Don’t we have our own artillery for that? Isn’t taking out enemy fortifications what artillery is, uh, _for?_ ”  
  
“Gracious, you really did earn that valedictorian title, Claude,” Minerva bit out. “As it turns out, ‘Why don’t we use our big gun to shoot their big gun?’ was a thought that _also_ occurred to the Empire, and their crew was better. Then they shot the bridge we need to use to move more artillery, the engineering crew sent to evaluate the damage to the bridge, and the guy we sent to ask them to stop shooting everyone, so now it’s up to us. We have new orders from High Command-”  
  
“Oh no.”  
  
“-who want us to take Fort Krest ourselves.”  
  
Claude sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off an incipient headache before turning to his scouts. “Alright, you’ve seen it. How heavily fortified _is_ Fort Krest?”  
  
Nico saluted cheerfully, inappropriately chipper for her news. “Sir! It’s a huge castle full of machine guns, snipers, and giant cannons. They even have a moat.”  
  
Squad E’s Commander glanced over at his sergeants, who looked back. Kai shrugged, “She’s young. That’s probably an exaggeration.”

* * *

 ** _One Hour Later_ **  
  
“Dammit, it wasn’t an exaggeration!” Raz ducked back behind cover as a line of machine gun fire nearly took his head off. In fact, the interception fire had been going pretty much nonstop since they’d come into range. Worse, the courtyard that they’d worked so hard to take was still on the wrong side of a fortified bridge, with so many barricades, land mines, and enemy lancers in the way that even the Hafen couldn’t advance with impunity, and the tank’s main gun had been disabled by rocket fire to prove it. The shock trooper grabbed his radio and shouted into it. “Claude, man, we’re ass-deep in enemies here! What do we do?”  
  
“What did you say, Raz?” Claude’s voice crackled back. “I can’t hear you over the sound of all the gunfire hitting the tank.”  
  
“That’s kinda my point. The troops are close to panicking.”  
  
“I’m not!” Vancey’s shout and celebratory hiccup carried across the battlefield.  
  
“The _sober_ troops are close to panicking.”  
  
“Well, they can’t just fire continuously like that forever. We’ll wait for them to run out of ammunition, or for their weapons to overheat, and then we’ll hit them when they can’t shoot back.”  
  
Raz nodded, relieved. “Okay then, sounds like a plan.” He waved to the other shock troopers with him, “Get ready, we’re gonna go as soon as they stop shooting!”

* * *

 _ **Seventeen Hours Later**_  
  
“Alright, I’m starting to think we just don’t know how guns work.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m kind of impressed.” Claude’s voice crackled back. By now, everyone had just grown accustomed to the sound of nonstop interception fire hammering away at their cover. “Even more wild is the fact that the wood panel you’re hiding behind is still standing after seventeen hours of machine gun fire. What the hell kind of wood is it?”  
  
Kai’s voice popped on next. “I think it’s made from the North European Invincible Oak. It’s what the Vikings used while conquering the new world.”  
  
“Wait, if it’s invincible, how do they cut it down?”  
  
Raz ignored the commander’s question to peek at their attackers again. “I just want to know how they can keep it up this long. I figured they’d have to take a nap or something. I haven’t seen them even leave cover yet.”  
  
“Why not ask them?” The sergeant turned to look at his his new shadow. The young Zaiga practically idolized him, which was… well, one more oddity in a Squad full of them. Raz had no time to play baby sitter, but he did actually consider the suggestion.  
  
“Fine.” He leaned back out from behind cover. “Hey! Imperials! Do you guys have a factory churning out bullets back there or what?”  
  
“Why would we need that?” The Imperial soldier manning the nearest machine gun shouted back, over the din. “When was the last time you saw a machine gun run out of ammo?”  
  
“...” Raz didn’t have a good answer for that, so he switched questions, “What about takin’ a break, then? Don’t you guys ever have to hit the latrine?”  
  
“We’ve been taking turns. We have a whole stack of buckets up here.”  
  
“Gross!”  
  
“Yeah, it almost smells as bad as a pair of Darcsen up here!” The Imperials all laughed, and Raz visibly resisted the urge to charge. Claude had been getting on his case about that.  
  
Speaking of Claude, his voice crackled back on. “Well, this is going smashingly. I guess we can hang on while we wait for Rita to stop flirting with Aulard and Aulard to stop flirting with the Hafen. Once they’ve fixed the main gun-”  
  
A new, feminine voice cut in. “Hello there, boys. I heard you had a date with Prince Charming tonight and need a fairy godmother. Should I wave my magic wand and make your problems go away?”  
  
The question was followed by a good six seconds of dead silence on the radio. Even the gunfire seemed muted. Finally, Claude answered. “Lady, I don’t know what kind of weird LARPing you’re doing, but this is a combat zone. You need to leave before you get hurt.”  
  
“Ugh.” The newcomer grunted. “Fine. I’m with the Federation and I have a new man-portable artillery system. Do you want fire support or not?”  
  
Kai’s startled voice crackled over the airwaves from her sniper post, more surprised than she’d been in recent memory. “Wait, you’re with the R &D group? Why the hell are you on the front lines?”  
  
“It isn’t supposed to be the front lines! HQ thought you’d be done with this attack twelve hours ago.”  
  
Claude’s voice broke back in. “Did HQ account for the fact that the enemy will occasionally fight back and/or not follow the script?”  
  
“...I don’t _think_ so. They were pretty sure this whole overland charge thing would go off without a hitch. Who is this anyway? Squad E’s Commander?”

“That’s right. And yes, we do want the artillery.”  
  
“Can you say pleeeease?” The newcomer teased.  
  
Claude scowled at Miles, who was busy trying to keep Aulard from licking the main gun. He held the radio back up to his mouth. “Can you say ‘after the Imperials kill Squad E, you’re probably next?”  
  
“Buncha killjoys. Alright, hang on boys and girls… Riley Miller’s here to save the day!”  
  
Claude’s blood ran cold. The radio buzzed one more time with Raz’s voice. “Did she say her name was-”  
  
The commander ignored him, his mind swiftly evaluating the tactical situation now that their ally had arrived. It was primarily focused on the first thought that had hit him when he heard the name. _Oh, shiiiiiiii-  
  
_

* * *

  
A loud, single thump announced that the Federation had officially sortied its very first grenadier. Grinning from ear to ear, the young blonde completed her mental calculations and fired. The ragnite shell arced up and over solid, dependable cover and landed behind the enemy’s fortifications, before going off in an explosion of blue flame and screams. She could just barely make out what the Imperials were saying as one of the many machine guns fell silent.  
  
“Oh _God_ no! She hit the buckets! _It’s everywhere!”_  
  
Familiar laughter that she half-recognized filled the comms. “Ahahahaha, that was beautiful!”  
  
Another voice she remembered from years ago, female this time, came next. “Wow, that’s… some solid aim. I’m actually impressed.”  
  
Riley, who had been targeting the sniper on the highest crenelation and not the nearby gatling bunker that she’d hit, glanced at her kit and realized that she’d forgotten to calibrate it. “Th-that’s right! Crack shot Riley Miller at your service. Let’s take this fort!”

* * *

  
A grenade sailed over the makeshift barricade and detonated, flinging the Imperial lancer back several feet. Astoundingly, instead of choking to death on his own blood after the shockwave ruptured every capillary in his lungs, he got up, appearing no worse for wear. “Haha! My blast armor makes me immune to your pitiful attacks! Come, Federation dogs! Come and face your d-”  
  
Raz vaulted over the barricade and sprayed him with machine gun fire, dropping the opponent in a geyser of blood. His last words were “Augh! Bullets! My one weakness!”  
  
The huge Darcsen ignored him and made use of the next available bit of cover. Behind him, the Hafen pushed forward, forming a mobile bulletproof wall for Riley to set up and fire from. In truth, the fight for Krest was over the moment she’d deployed, but it was probably going to be another minute before the Imperials realized that. Lacking their invincible emplacements, Squad E had begun systematically dismantling the rest of their defenses. They were nearly to the other side of the bridge already.  
  
Eventually, it did end. The scouts spread out across the fort to look for any new booby traps or hidden foes, the engineers got to work collecting the remaining mines, Godwin began furiously looting bodies, and the leadership of the platoon was faced with a conundrum.  
  
_Most_ of the Imperials had surrendered. The artillery crew, however, had not. Given that the Federation really wanted the big gun intact, and that the Empire’s group was threatening to blow it up, that left them with a standoff.  
  
Claude, outside the confines of the tank at last, stood with Kai and Raz flanking him as he talked - or rather, shouted - back and forth with the officer at the base of the cannon, a good forty meters away. “What kind of conditions are you looking for?”  
  
“Well, first off, the Empire brutally executes people who sleight them, so we’d want some kind of protection from that.”  
  
Claude glanced at his sergeants, then back at the distant enemy commander. “We have POW camps. Does that work?”  
  
“Ugh, no!”  
  
“Oh, come on, these are fancy Federation POW camps, not the kind _you_ have where the prisoners get tortured to death.”  
  
“We don’t do that!”  
  
“Come on, buddy, we all saw the first game. You totally do.”  
  
“Dude, that was _one guy_ and _we_ executed him! Plus, I don’t think the Gallia campaign has progressed that far yet. There’s timeline overlap. Don’t get anachronistic!”  
  
“Yeah, _Claude._ How could you?” Kai deadpanned.  
  
“Fine, so what’s your problem with the POW camps?”  
  
There was a brief conference among the Imperial gunnery crew. “Technically, two of the crew over here are women in disguise, and that’ll get reported back to the motherland after the war. They’re not normally allowed to have real careers because the Empire is sexist like the bad guys a workplace conduct PSA, but we’ve got this “five amigos” thing going on over here, and…”  
  
“Good grief.” Claude planted his face in one palm. “Alright, what if we just _reported_ that you got vaporized and all of you desert instead?”  
  
“We can’t go back to the Empire, and we can’t flee west ‘cuz the bridge is out, remember?”  
  
“And whose fault is that?!”  
  
“Hey, wacky hijinks are an important part of the dynamic!”  
  
“You don’t have a dynamic!” Claude gestured widely, taking in all five of the enemy gunner crew. “Look, I can see it from over here. You all look the same except the commander’s armor is red.”  
  
“Now, see, that’s just you being racist.”  
  
“Look at yourselves! You all have the same face and body type, including the two that are supposedly women! Do _any_ of you have names?”  
  
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, the Imperial troops broke it, talking among themselves. “My God he’s… he’s right. I don’t remember anything from before the war started.”  
  
“We have no past… no future…”  
  
The commander shook his red helmet. “Then… if we only have now… if we only  have this moment… then it stands to reason that our only mark on history will be made not with our lives, but with our deaths.”  
  
“Uh, Claude…” Kai started.  
  
He’d already caught on, or maybe had expected something like this all along. “Yeah, I’d go ahead and get down.”  
  
The enemy commander palmed what was obviously a detonator, even at this distance. “Thank you, honest Federation officer, for the truth that was denied us. For permanence! For relevance! FOR THE EMPEROR!”  
  
The ensuing explosion rattled the foundations of Fort Krest, the windshields of distant automobiles, and the teeth of the soldiers of Squad E, who had already taken cover. When the ringing had faded from everyone’s ears, Claude slowly rose to his feet and gazed at what little was left of the artillery emplacement. “Well… mission technically accomplished, I guess.”  
  
“That…” Raz took a deep breath, “...that kinda sucked, man. I’m just glad it’s over.”  
  
“Goddammit it, you had to jinx it, didn’t you?”  
  
The huge shock trooper looked at him in, well, mild shock. “What? What other drama is going to pop up?”  
  
“Well, well, well…” The voice of their erstwhile grenadier ally cut across the fort’s inner courtyard with far more venom than it had held while murdering the enemy. “Claude Wallace staring impotently at a life-consuming inferno. Sure brings back memories, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Riley!” Raz barked in surprise.  
  
“Raz?”  
  
Kai also spun to face the newcomer. “Riley…”  
  
“Leena?”  
  
The sniper shook her head. “Kai.”  
  
“Kai?” Riley seemed a bit taken aback, but tried to keep up.  
  
“Riley-” Claude started, but got cut off.  
  
“Claude.”  
  
The tank operator, emerging from the Hafen and not wanting to be left out, took his best guess and extended his hand. “Miles!”  
  
“Shut up!” The other four chided him in unison.  
  
“Aww.”  
  
Though the exchange had taken just under five seconds, a new record for perfunctory introductions, it at least allowed the conversation to progress. “Riley, what are you doing out here?”  
  
“I graduated and joined the Federation R &D group.” The blonde shrugged. “Now I make bombs. Not exactly the impact I wanted to have on the world, but at least I get to work outdoors and do cool stuff with ragnite. I’m the Science Officer assigned to this area.”  
  
“Science Officer?” Claude snickered. “Okay, _Spock._ You do know that ‘general mathematics’ isn’t a rank, right?”  
  
“It isn’t?”  
  
“Aaaaand _there’s_ the Riley I remember.” Kai nodded decisively. “It’s good to have you back.”  
  
"Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” Riley crossed her arms in a way that she was clearly hoping made her look tough and not adorable. “I’ve got beef with Claude from _way_ back. I’m going to transfer out as soon as I can. I hate him and there isn’t a single thing we have in common.”  
  
“Didn’t the top brass send you out here?”  
  
“Yeah, but the top brass are a bunch of clueless assholes.”  
  
Silence fell after that remark. Not because it was novel, but because Riley and Claude had both spoken it in perfect unison. Kai didn't smirk, but her face nonetheless had the tiniest smirk-like quality to it. “Nothing in common, you say?”  
  
“It doesn’t mean anything.”  
  
“Yeah, don’t read too much into it.”  
  
With that, Claude and Riley departed. Claude to take stock of the squad, and Riley to calibrate her grenade launcher. Better late than never, and the thought of blowing things up always calmed her down.

* * *

High above them, on the crenelations of the old castle, Rita Raywater clapped her hands together and made an odd, high-pitched keening noise of delight. "They are going to have _so many babies._ "  
  
"What is the matter with you?"  
  
"Nothing." She leaned over to her temporary bodyguard, Laurent McCloud, and attempted to pull him closer. "By the way, are you busy later, or...?"  
  
"Rita, the landmine-"  
  
"Oh! Oh yes. That would be bad. Seriously, though..."  
  
"I dunno," the lancer shrugged. "They don't seem to like each other very much, and it's not any of our business. I doubt the sergeants are speculating on their future love lives."  


* * *

Raz broke the quiet first. “Twenty bucks says they’re bangin’ by the end of the war.”  
  
“Hell no, that’s my bet too.”  
  
“Am I allowed to talk yet?” Miles wondered.  
  
Kai goggled at him. “Wh…? Yes. God, you’re our driver, not our _gimp._ ”  
  
“I dunno, you do seem to enjoy busting my balls.” The shock trooper elbowed her.  
  
“Don’t read too much into it.” With that, Kai turned and sauntered off.  
  
Raz took a deep breath, letting it out in an aggrieved sigh. "This is gonna be _so much fun._ "  
  
"Ah, look at the bright side." Miles patted him on the shoulder, though he had to reach up to do it. "I'll be there to take a picture of Claude's face when he finds out that HQ isn't accepting non-medical transfers right now."  
  
The shock trooper turned to give him a sideways look and grinned. "Alright, that _is_ gonna be fun."

* * *

_An excerpt From the Journal of Claude Wallace_

**_March 11th, 1935  
Fort Krest_ **  
  
_The gunfire and attacks of opportunity have finally stopped, night has fallen, and we have temporarily camped inside Fort Krest itself, which has finally fallen silent with its 21cm Howitzer disabled. Yet with the lack of pounding and tension has come a completely new headache. We have - at least for the moment - picked up a mobile artillery unit named Riley Miller. She’s a dangerous bundle of unstable, high-yield ordinance, and that’s before we get into the fact that she has a newfangled weapon called a ‘mortar,’ which lobs bombs at anyone she doesn’t like.  
  
Did I mention that she hates my guts? I’m sure this ends well.  
  
Or maybe I’m being too negative. Her studies abroad may have mellowed her out since The Incident, and it’s possible that her considerable natural intellect and curiosity will win out over her ditzy spells and unhealthy love of fireworks. _  
  
The ground shook, thunder roared, and a blue flash lit the scene for just a moment, even though the curtains of his temporary room were drawn tight. Over the ringing, he could hear Riley’s voice and the cheers of some of the rowdier members of Squad E. “Whoops, haha! That batch was a little more unstable than I thought. Still, pretty impressive, right? I couldn’t believe they let me minor in Explosions as part of the Ragnite Engineering postgraduate curriculum. God bless the USV!”  
  
Claude sighed and picked up his pen again.  
  
_~~Or maybe I’m being too negative. Her studies abroad may have mellowed her out since The Incident, and it’s possible that her considerable natural intellect and curiosity will win out over her ditzy spells and unhealthy love of fireworks.~~  
  
Nope. Forget hoping for reconciliation. I’ll settle for keeping all my limbs attached. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd written most of this chapter before going back and replaying the mission. Turns out there aren't any enemy lancers, snipers, mines, or wooden barricades in it, but that's the beauty of this being a parody and not a documentary!
> 
> Reviews and comments are always appreciated. Many thanks for those that have already been posted.
> 
> I'm going to do something a little nuts and set myself a solid deadline for the next chapter. Expect to see "Chapter 3: A Little Fall of Reine" on March 16th.


	3. A Little Fall of Reine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! I'm sure it's still March 16th somewhere, if only in my heart.

_An excerpt from the journal of Claude Wallace:  
  
**May 11th, 1935**  
**Lindbergh Base**  
  
It’s been two months since the beginning of Operation: Sign of the Northern Cross, and the Federation has ‘won’ nearly every battle. Despite our rapid overland progress, the sheer distance involved has started to stretch our supply lines thin. In a move that I’m sure consumed all of their military savvy for the year, High Command has established a reliable network of logistical supply nodes through the eastern theater, among them the one we’ve just reached - Lindbergh Base. Supporting 3000 troops and 100 tanks, it’s fairly impressive compared to the bivouacking we’ve been doing. Imperial resistance is growing heavier, though, and I can’t help but feel the other shoe is about to drop.  
  
And no, Riley has _ not _gotten any easier to deal with. Thanks for wondering._

* * *

Claude looked up from his journal, taking in the massive camp before them and tuning out his squad lustily describing the details of the base to each other as though it hadn’t been covered in the briefing. The only true oddity was the pair of navy officers there. “So, Raz, what’s the T-minus on you going to hit on the navy lieutenant?”  
  
“You were too slow, Claude.” Kai fumed. “He’s already off.”  
  
He snorted. “Damn. Better report in, then.”  
  
Leaving his squad to get situated, he made his way to the command tent, only to find Minerva already there. “You’re late, Claude.”  
  
“Seems to be a theme today. What’s going on? I see all the squad commanders from the 101st here.” It was true. The leaders of squads A through I were there, as was Riley, representing the fire support team. She was ignoring him. Loudly.  
  
“New orders, presumably. Also, you must have impressed someone on that Krest mission. They gave you another commendation.”  
  
“Wasn’t that two months ago?”  
  
“Yes. They waited a week for each hour over the deadline you were.”  
  
“Ouch.” Claude took it regardless, along with another above-average weapon. “Is that our new CO coming this way? Are we allowed to talk about his-”  
  
“Don’t say it.”  
  
“-giant forehead?”  
  
“Dammit, Claude,” Lieutenant Victor griped, teeth clenched. “I can’t unsee that.”  
  
“Attention!” The CO - again his name escaped the assembled squad leaders - began the meeting. “We have new orders. We’re to start by taking the town of Reine. It’s a big communications hub guarded by a tank platoon, and we’re trying to keep collateral damage to a minimum.”  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“You may be wondering how we’re going to accomplish this. We’re assigning this mission to Squads E and F.”  
  
“Sir, we’re a pair of infantry groups.” Minerva frowned. “Urban combat versus tanks is not really our forte…”  
  
“High Command insists it will be fine. Squad F, in particular, are charged with luring the bulk of their forces away from the town while Squad E infiltrates the city.”  
  
Her expression turned horrified. “I’m going to get shot at while Claude gets his act together?”  
  
“Squad E, you’re tasked with infiltrating the city and marking the enemy tank positions. Once you have, you can radio their locations to our artillery group.”  
  
“Whoa whoa whoa…” Claude’s own face turned into a mirror of Minerva’s, “I’m going to get shot at while Riley gets her act together?”  
  
“Aww, don’t be like that, Claude.” Riley said, mockingly sweet. “It’ll be a _learning experience.”_  
  
“Well, I feel better knowing that engineering prodigy Riley Miller will be keeping you on task.” Minerva relaxed, slightly. “Try to remember that they’re using decoy tanks and we’ll be fine. It’s comforting to know we’ll have allies with tremendous firepower watching our backs.”  
  
“Yeah, comforting.” Claude took a deep breath. “That is definitely the word I would use to describe this situation, and not a different one.”

* * *

 **One Hour Later**  
  
“...and that’s the situation.” Claude finished the mission briefing, standing before the assembled Squad E. “So, first things first. Yes, the town we’re taking is called ‘Reine.’ Get the puns out of your system now.”  
  
A clamor of voices erupted, but some quips were heard above the rest.  
  
"So we’re launching a Reine of terror?”  
“There’ll be Reine tomorrow night!”  
"Who’s taking the the Reines of this joint operation?”  
“We’ll be infiltrating through Reine’s pores.”  
“If we win, we can celebrate by Singin’ in the Reine!”  
“We’ll have to Reine it in, though.”  
"Good thing they called in the Reine-gers."  
  
When that tapered off, Claude gave it a beat. “Anyone else?” Another beat. “Alright, then, does anyone-”  
  
“We’ll be taking Reine by storm.” Everyone turned to look at Mabel, and she coughed. “Sorry, sir.”  
  
“...does anyone have any questions about the mission itself?”  
  
Jascha raised his hand. “What’s the forecast like for the mission?” This got some snickers, but the didactic man shook his head. “I was completely serious. The commander has displayed an… illogical but proven ability to predict upcoming weather events.”  
  
“The forecast for tomorrow evening is…” Claude let the anticipation build as they waited for the most appropriate answer. “...fog.” A chorus of disappointed groans came back and he grinned. “Sorry, folks, but this will help us in infiltrating the city.”  
  
Theresa adjusted her glasses. “But not in terms of determining fake tanks from real ones. We’ll have to get close.”  
  
“That’s true, but I have a plan to protect our scouts as they move through the city, and Squad F will be leading off the bulk of the enemy forces. Any other questions?”  
  
“You mentioned something about Lieutenant Miller’s artillery unit.” Ryan, the new mercenary, spoke up. “Who’s in it?”  
  
“Well, that would be… uh…” Claude stopped, caught off guard. “Yeah, who _is_ in it?”  
  
“Aoife, Connor, and Jascha made the jump, along with a few from Squad F.” Riley finally spoke up. “I’ve got them about trained up on the basics of being a Grenadier.” She shrugged. “Someone named ‘Ben Smith’ is also supposed to join me, but according to Headquarters he’s still scheduled for more, and I quote, ‘robo-surgery.’ I don’t know what that is, but I want to.”  
  
“It means he was critically injured - again - in the last sortie against the Empire.” Mabel stated. “But… they can rebuild him. They have the technology.”  
  
“Any other questions?” Claude asked again.  
  
“Yeah,” Raz grinned. “I scored a date with a navy officer. When can I say I’ll be free?”  
  
“Is this the fat guy or the one who rejected you?”  
  
“How did you know she rejected me?”  
  
"Because you just told me.” Claude smirked, and some of the squad chuckled. “Be ready to roll out at noon tomorrow. We begin our attack at 18:00. Dismissed!”

* * *

 **May 12, 1935  
18:00**  
**Reine Outskirts**  
  
“So, uh, Claude, I know you said you had a plan to protect us, and I mean, _I get it_ , but don’t you think a tank is a little excessive for an infiltration mission?” Kai had to talk into the radio. There wouldn’t be any way to make herself heard over the rumbling of the Hafen’s engine otherwise.  
  
The response came back immediately. “Ah, Kai, that would be true if there was the slightest chance in Hell of this actually being an infiltration. But this plan was put together by HQ, so I figure we have about a 150% chance of this turning into a screaming firefight. When that happens, _I want the tank._ ”  
  
“Fair enough. How were you planning to get past the gate, though?”  
  
“...” There was a beat before Claude answered. “Uh… after the shooting started, I kind of figured I’d just run it down. With my tank.”  
  
“Nope. It’s made out of East Europan Invincible Iron.”  
  
“Oh, for the love of- Alright, Raz, Curtis, you find a way around the gate and open it from the other side. Azusa, Gertrude, you take the right flank and start identifying tanks. Everyone else, stick close to the Hafen.”  
  
A chorus of confirmations came back, and the four Rangers of Squad E dispersed into the combat zone.

* * *

  
Watching the distant city from her chosen vantage point, Riley waited for a signal, a call, or any kind of sign that something was happening. Waiting was hardly her favorite activity, and it had her in an extra aggressive mood.  
  
Connor tried to break the sour spell. “So, uh… when do we get to make it _Rei_ -”  
  
“No. Stop it. We did that already.”  
  
“Yes ma’am!” From behind her, she could hear him scribbling in his notebook. Any hopes that she had that it might be formula corrections to improve his aim were dashed when he heard him muttering, “Lieutenant Shirley Tiller… humorless… slave driver…”  
  
“And quit taking character notes on me!”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Aoife said to him, soothingly, “You can sketch me later.”  
  
“Aren’t you engaged…?”  
  
“Yes, but my fiance won’t mind you basing a character on me.”  
  
“Oh, a _character_ sketch. An outline. Yes. That. Thank you.”

* * *

There had been a scattering of gunshots, so clearly the enemy had been alerted, but no reported casualties had come over the radio yet. Claude was surprised when the gates opened, revealing Raz standing there. A moment later, Curtis joined him. “Doing okay there, Raz?”  
  
“You got it, Claude. I found the controls, Curtis took off to the left flank looking for guards.”  
  
The taciturn, imposing scout managed to loom over everyone who wasn’t driving a tank or Raz. “Took care of them,” he grunted, “They didn’t see it coming.”  
  
An unsettling quiet came over the group. “Man,” Miles whispered. “What a ruthless badass.”

* * *

In the heart of the city, a trio of Imperial guards sat, legs chained to a heavy table and helmets removed. “Wow,” said the first. “That ranger kicked our _asses_.”  
  
“It was nice of him to dress our wounds and make coffee for us afterward, though.”  
  
“Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.”

* * *

 **Ten Minutes Later**  
  
The mission was going spectacularly well. Almost suspiciously well, in fact. They’d quickly identified five tanks, and Azusa had just found the last one by the _smell_. Claude had given the okay to Raz to find someone to radio Riley. Now they just needed a safe place to ride out the oncoming barrage, and a good way to deal with the Imperial reinforcements closing in on their current outpost.  
  
The lieutenant’s musings were interrupted by a heavy knock on the side of the tank. “Hey, Claude.”  
  
He looked down at his fire team leader from atop the tank. “What is it, Raz?”  
  
“I told Scott to radio in locations of all the tanks in town, but he says the jamming cut him off after the first one.”  
  
The ranger commander shrugged, merely annoyed. “Well, Riley will eventually realize what’s happening and triangulate on the jamming signal after she blows up that first… tank… hold on.” Claude held up a hand, feeling a chill sweep through him. “Scott? You told _Scott_ to do this?”  
  
“Yeah, but the jamming-”  
  
“And your order was to send Riley the targeting information for _every_ real tank in town?”  
  
“Y...yeah.” Comprehension dawned on Raz’s face. “Oh _shit._ ”  
  
“Scott! Private Aldiss!” Claude shouted, catching the shock trooper’s attention. “You were on the radio with Lieutenant Miller just now?”  
  
“Sir, yes sir!”  
  
“Which tank location did you give her before you got cut off?”  
  
“Sir, this one sir! The Hafen. It was the closest, sir!”  
  
The distant thumps of mortar fire caused all of them to turn to the ridge that Riley’s fire support team had set up on. Claude didn’t need the wind to tell him that the artillery rounds were aimed at his position. “Squad E, move out, all units retreat into the city, now!”  
  
Dropping into the Hafen and slamming the hatch shut, he shot a single wild-eyed look at Miles and at the top of his lungs bellowed, _“CHEESE IT!”_  
  
The operator didn’t need to be told twice. Throwing the Hafen into gear, Miles got the tank moving at an acceleration that just barely avoided stalling the engine and would have voided the warranty had the tank possessed one. As it was, the machine roared off into the foggy evening, running over several vintage automobiles in the process, with the rest of Ez Platoon screaming and swearing - but mostly screaming - as they sprinted in any direction that would get them away from the blast zone.

* * *

The approaching Imperial commander’s brow furrowed as the approach of his unit was suddenly met with the panicked flight of the Federation forces. His men cheered, with one shock trooper in the back crowing, “Ha, look at that! The Federation dogs flee at the slightest sign of trouble!” As one, they swarmed into the territory that Squad E had abandoned, even jovially planting a flag in the intersection.  
  
The commander held up a fist and the noise faded. “Quiet! Does anyone else hear some sort of… whistling?”

* * *

Claude had to take a brief roll-call when the calamity died down, and by scout, since the radios were still being jammed. When they reported back, though, he discovered that by some miracle, no one had gone up in a ragnite-fueled hail of destruction. He briefly ducked back down into the Hafen, “Miles, what’s the status of the Hafen? Anything I need to know?”  
  
“I think I peed a little!”  
  
“That is _not_ something I needed to know.” He climbed halfway back out, taking stock.  
  
While his troops had survived, they were scattered, which was going to make coordination nearly impossible. Worse, they had no way to actually use Riley’s mortar group for their intended purpose, which just left Squad E as a smattering of sitting ducks in an Imperial city that still possessed its full complement of heavy tanks.  
  
The platoon commander took a deep breath, staring up at the sky in an effort to hear the wind, but he wasn’t having much luck with the tall buildings around. He could hear the sounds of gunfire and lancer launches throughout Reine. All he had with him was Raz, Kai, and Aulard, who had refused to get too far from the tank. And of course, he had the Hafen itself.  
  
_The high buildings and Hafen… hang on._ Claude glanced at the nearby tower. Sure enough, it was an old-timey message tower from before the days of telegraphs and radios. Semaphore flags and a bell came standard. They’d had one like it back home… where he _and_ Riley had grown up.  
  
“Kai, do you think you can flip the numbers on the signal towers from ground level? With your rifle, I mean?”  
  
His best sniper gave him a look that was unreadable through the fog. “Claude, while I’m flattered that you think I’m Annie Oakley now, I’m going to have to give that a solid maybe. Depends on wind speed, caliber, whether or not they locked the number panels in place, how rusty the hinges are-”  
  
“Glad to hear it. I want you to flip each tower’s top numbers to read 715. Then, shoot the bell five times.”  
  
“...” The two sergeants exchanged a look, but it was Kai who spoke once again. “Uh, even assuming that each tower is just one number flip away, and that we can get into position to hit all the towers without getting killed by the Empire or our own confused friendly fire, that plan still requires me to fire eighteen times. I don’t carry more than three bullets on me, and I can only fire once per action.”  
  
“No, Kai, this is a cutscene. You can do anything!”  
  
“Six times, then. That still requires at least two engineer-assisted reloads.”  
  
“Why _do_ you carry so few bullets anyway?” Raz asked. “Seems like kind of a liability.”  
  
“Because…” the sniper paused and gave him her most badass smirk. “...one is all I need.”  
  
There was a beat while they all stared at her. Finally, she slumped as though the air had been let out of her and added, “Except right now, when I need a lot more.”  
  
“Well, fortunately, we have an engineer with us!”  
  
Aulard perked up. “So thaaaat’s why High Command has us carry an infinite amount of sniper rounds, lancer rockets, and ragnite shells that we can’t use. In case the people with those weapons run out.”  
  
“Bingo. It _almost_ makes sense if you don’t think about it too hard.”  
  
“How am I going to see to shoot through all the fog?” Kai interjected.  
  
“Don’t worry, in a moment here the fog is going to lift, presumably to make it easier for the Imperial reinforcements to hunt down isolated groups of Federation soldiers.”  
  
Raz grunted. “Man, which god did you piss off?”  
  
“More importantly, what does the tower thing accomplish?” Aulard scratched at his headband. “The numbers don’t form coordinates, sir.”  
  
“Ah, that’s the beauty of it. Riley and I both grew up in Hafen. The Starchild festival took place on July 15. She’ll see the numbers, hear the bell ring five times like it did at the festival, and put together from the bottom rows what she’s supposed to shoot.”  
  
“...” Raz gave him a look. “Kind of a stretch, ain’t it?”  
  
“No way, Raz. Riley might be a bit unstable, but she’s a genius. She’ll definitely work it out.”  Claude grabbed the hatch of the Hafen, getting ready to cover them. “Alright, let’s move out. Everyone else is counting on us.”

* * *

It was indeed bad all throughout the city. Pockets of Squad E held out as best they could.  
  
“Heh.” Stanley quipped, gunning down a nearby shocktrooper, “Guess Miss Miller managed to _Reine_ on our para-”  
  
“No. Stop it.” Mabel fired again, dropping another distant enemy. “We did that already.”

* * *

Cornered in a dead-end alley, Azusa crouched behind a row of convenient sandbags. Gertrude, by contrast, stood tall and gave the charging opponents a dismissive look. “Well, this is certainly a disappointing turn of events. Not only is the enemy armour still online, but now a horde of sweaty, unwashed foreigners are coming in our direction.”  
  
“That happens to be my exact fetish.”  
  
“...” Gertrude hoisted her rocket launcher to her shoulder and adjusted her tiara. “That is not the intelligence I was hoping to gather this evening. Fire!”

* * *

Vancey’s mostly well-aimed shoulder tackle broke the door open, and she staggered through into the room beyond. Whether intentional or not, she’d managed to locate a bar. Leaning against the wall near the door, she turned to the outside and sprayed suppression fire around cover with one hand, letting Nico and Lily race inside.  
  
“This is terrible!” The teen proclaimed, looking for a good shooting position.  
  
Lily chuckled grimly. “Our impending demise? It’s not all bad.”  
  
“Worse!” Nico planted her hands on her hips. Behind her, three bullet holes appeared in the wall, each suggesting a shot that had passed within an inch of her head. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. “Most of the squad hasn’t even found their Lord and Savior-”  
  
“Jesus Christ, get down!” Lily took the scout down in a flying tackle, and not a moment too soon. A line of fire from an enemy shock trooper scythed through the bar, shattering the external windows and exploding bottles across the back wall.  
  
“Language, miss!”  
  
At the door, Vancey shook her head and fired, killing the latest attacker. “Can’t believe I’m schayan it, but Iiiii don’t think I’m drunk enough for this.”

* * *

The Hafen rounded the corner and plowed into the shock trooper standing there. As he flipped up into the air, the main barrel swiveled around and fired, reducing him to a red mist.  
  
“Geez, Claude, isn’t that a bit overkill?”  
  
“Nah. When was the last time you saw someone die from being run over?”  
  
“...” Kai didn’t have a response to that. Instead, she lined up on the tower. “Alright. Cutscene… activate!”

* * *

On Fire Team Hill, Riley was furiously scribbling calculations with one hand while listening to her headset with the other.  
  
“Ma’am,” A Squad F grenadier leaned over. “Have you triangulated the enemy jamming signal yet?”  
  
“I’m trying, but it’s hard to concentrate with that damn bell ringing nonstop!” Riley snapped. “Do we have any way to shut them up?”  
  
“Well…” the trooper from Squad F held up a ragnite shell. “There is _one_ …”  
  
“...” Riley looked at it, then him, then grinned. “Nice.”

* * *

A cascade of explosions devastated the area around the tower, collapsing it and several other buildings.  
  
“Yes!” Raz cheered. “She got ‘em! Took the tanks out!”  
  
“Alright.” Claude breathed a sigh of relief. “I knew Riley would work it out.”  
  
“Or she just aimed wildly in this direction and got the tanks as collateral.”  
  
“Next tower!”

* * *

Impossibly, Squad E managed to turn the battle for Reine around. With the enemy armored units falling in number, along with more than a few buildings, the platoon was able to rally around the Hafen and drive back the Imperial forces. At last, they stood before the final two tanks and the nearby tower.  
  
“Alright, Kai.” Claude ordered. “Open fire on the-”  
  
“Not. So. Fast.” The Federation forces looked about for the voice, unsure where it had come from. It seemed like it was echoing up from the tower itself, but it was impossible to tell. “You’ve done well to get this far, Federation dogs, but now you face your real opponent - your very first Imperial Ace.” This drew a gasp from several members of the squad, and a sinister chuckle echoed back, though it was getting harder to hear him over the descending whistle that had been growing in intensity and volume as he spoke. “That’s right. Elite units with superior training, reflexes, and equipment. I personally am an expert in assassination and infiltration. I could be anywhere, at any time. Now, prepare yourself to face the wrath of Thane the-”  
  
A barrage of ragnite explosions tore apart the tanks and the tower, just as it had the previous two times. They never did find out what Thane’s title was. Even that night, Claude would have to file it in his mission report as ‘Thane the AAAAIIIIIEEE!’ That, however, was fine by him.

* * *

Riley gazed through her binoculars at the distant city and the newest crater she’d made in it. “Do you think I jumped the gun on that one? They weren’t ringing it _yet_ , but it felt like they were going to.” She looked at her communications officer. “And what is Claude up to, anyway? Have we heard anything from him?”

* * *

The Hafen stood empty, much like the enemy’s defensive outposts. The Empire had retreated when their heavy tanks had fallen, and the town was theirs. Staring at the pile of rubble that served as the resting place for the enemy ace, Kai sighed. “I literally can’t believe that worked.”  
  
“Heh, that was pretty slick.” Miles stretched, glad to be free of the tank’s confines. “It’s a good Lieutenant Wallace a- _Reine-_ ged for all that fire supp-”  
  
“No. Stop it.” Claude cut him off. “We did that already.”  
  
“Aww….”

* * *

Hours later, they had reconvened at Lindbergh Base. It took some doing, but Riley finally managed to find Claude alone, and made her way into his tent. “Claude…”  
  
“Riley!” He turned and gave her the thumbs up. “Good work out there. Everyone was sure you wouldn’t understand my clue about the Starchild Festival, but you showed ‘em.”  
  
“The Starchild Festival? What are you…” Her eyes widened as comprehension about the bells and towers hit her. Now that she was thinking about it, she supposed that the numbers on them might have been arranged to point out tank locations once the jamming had started. “Oh. OH! Yes. I definitely put together a series of distant context clues related to a regional holiday I haven’t celebrated in years. In the middle of a battle. Because I’m a genius, and that’s how being a genius works.”  
  
“Yeah! I’m glad we’re on the same page.”  
  
“It definitely wasn’t because I’m willing to blow up historic landmarks to eliminate a temporary annoyance.” Riley giggled nervously. “Oh! Also, you impressed command with this mission. They sent you a commendation and another fancy gun.”  
  
“Good. Give it to Scott with a single bullet so he can _shoot himself._ Wait…” Claude paused as something didn’t add up. “They sent a commendation for _this_ mission? They’ve barely had a few minutes to process the report.”  
  
“Yeah, I was surprised too. They’re hilariously inept, punctuated with these weird moments of terrifying efficiency.” She paused, growing uncharacteristically shy. “So…”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So I canceled my transfer request.”  
  
“Before or after they denied it because it wasn’t medically related?”  
  
“Before, you ass,” she lied. “And… when I found out that you managed to save everyone after that mess, I started thinking…”  
  
A huge outcry from outside the tent interrupted them. Racing out and up the hill, they looked in the distance to see the entire city ablaze. Disbelieving, Claude unconsciously mimicked the mannerisms of one of the more popular Edinborough instructors. “Right. Well. What’s all this then?”  
  
“Sir, Reine is on fire, sir!” Scott Aldiss shouted, entirely unnecessarily.  
  
“No shit! How did it get that bad with none of us noticing? Or anyone putting the slightest effort into putting it out?”  
  
“Napalm, sir. The entire city was ready to go up like a matchbox.”  
  
“So, not content with killing _our_ civilians, they’re killing theirs now too?” Claude barked, livid. “Riley, can we arrange a firebreak or-”  
  
“Nope.” She backed up, hands over mouth. “Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope. I’m out!” She suited action to words, booking it in the opposite direction.  
  
“Ah, shit, the phobia. Riley!” Claude chased after her until he caught her. Phobia or not, only one of them had completed the Ranger PT course. “Dammit, if it’s this bad, how do you work with high explosives?”  
  
“I became a grenadier so that I could make fires happen somewhere else and _not_ near me!”  
  
“That… doesn’t make any sense.”  
  
“Because phobias are logical now?”  
  
“...” Claude didn’t have an answer to that. “Alright, let’s… let’s just get back to base, then. Not a whole lot we can do about a napalm conflagration anyway. No sense in disrespecting it with cheap theatrics or limping humor.”

* * *

On the other side of the city, on their own hill, Squad F looked on in equal horror. Their tank operator was the first to speak. “I suppose you could say Reine's destruction was… precipitous?”  
  
Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting off a headache. “Jesus, Ronald. Read the room.”

* * *

 _An excerpt from the journal of Claude Wallace:  
  
**May 13th, After Midnight**  
**Lindbergh Base**  
  
After considerable effort and several near misses, we managed to take Reine with its communication equipment intact… and then promptly lost Reine, its citizens, its communication equipment, its infrastructure, and any supplies we might have liked. Scorched earth, it seems, is a policy the Empire plans to take literally. The only good news is that Riley and I have mended our trust… at least partially. Enough that I no longer feel like I have to watch my back. _  
  
The voice of the young woman in question interrupted his musings from just outside his tent. “Claude, I’ve been thinking about how to fight fire, and I think I finally invented a bomb big enough to kill it. Come take a look! Just don’t jostle it too much.”  
  
Claude sighed and turned to put one final thought in his entry for the evening. _I don’t have to watch my back - just where I put my feet and what she might have left in my bunk by mistake. It’s a learning experience._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite having missed it by a bit, the deadline was a good thing, I think. It got me writing when I otherwise would have procrastinated.
> 
> On another note, thank you all so much for the comments and kudos. I'm starting to get into the swing of things and the character voices, and knowing that you are enjoying reading it as much as I enjoy writing it is definitely a productivity boost. Expect to see the next installment, "Chapter 4: We Built This Squad E (Interlude)" on March 24. The deadline is shorter as the chapter, being an Interlude, is likely to be a bit shorter as well. I may also continue work on Squad Stories, which are still going to go into their own work here on AO3 and not be featured as chapters in this one. See you in a week!
> 
> Edit: Slight delay here. I'd forgotten that the Squad E Assembly Interlude is not only ludicrous, but also weirdly played seriously. As a result, I'm writing this chapter almost from scratch. While it's adding more content, it's also taking longer than I thought. I still expect to get it out this week.


End file.
